Mistletoe
by sangre antigua
Summary: Chase mulls over his affection for his boss while Cameron forces him to hide Christmas decorations in his office. House/Chase.


**Author:** TR4G1C.

**Rating; Title; Pairing:** T; Mistletoe; House/Chase.

**Summary:** Chase mulls over his affection for his boss while Cameron forces him to hide Christmas decorations in his office. House/Chase.

**Warning/Disclaimer:** I do not own House M.D., at all. )':

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If there was one thing I've learned about House, it's that he does what he wants, when he wants. Someone can tell him no as blatantly as the day and he'll just turn around and do it all the same. And the enjoyment he gets out of it is phenomenal. I'm sure if he could jump up in the air and click his heals, he would. I'm sure that should have made me hate him, but that wasn't the way the hand was dealt to me. See, I was a dumbass and fell _in love_ with his unstoppable impulses and his relatively uncaring attitude to the human race. I'm as in the dark about that as you are, but I have a theory that a few things came together, and their product was my awkward love for this man.

I guess I envied him at first. The way his eyes twinkle when he does what he wants. The mischievous flares in his superior grin. The magic floating around inside of his head, each idea exploding with as much vigor as a fourth of July firework. They made me wish that I could be like him. Each of those qualities was distinctive to only one man, and that was Gregory House. And those qualities added together gave him that cool, independent, sarcastic—narcissistic—air about him. I'm not sure why I envied him, but it probably had to do with the fact that I'm well…I'm a doormat. Everyone steps all over me, wiping the shit off the bottom of their shoes onto my plate.

And, maybe, because he can get away with like…anything, by using just his wit.

Don't get me wrong, I can be conniving at times, but most of the time I care too much about what people think. That, when mixed with my doormat-prone actions, is a recipe for disaster. I cave in like a house (no pun intended) that has had its foundation eaten away. My walls crumble and everything turns into dust. But House—his house stays strong. No structural damage, no sinkholes, no faulty plumbing or the like.

Okay, maybe structural damage but that's another story.

After the envy came the strong desire to please him. I chimed in more during diagnoses and I tried my hardest to be right. It wasn't necessarily a _sudden _change or anything, because I'm guilty of being a shameless suck-up, but I was really, honestly trying. And that in itself says something's changing.

What for, I don't really know. It wasn't like my job was in jeopardy or anything. If I gave it a shot and did as I was instructed, and as I had been taught in school, then everything would be fine. But I had these impulses to please him that I couldn't shake off. To actually try my hardest and get it right, to look good in his eyes.

House almost always shot down my ideas, but at least I was participating and he seemed to register that I wanted to please him. I mean, he just had to. That smugger-than-usual grin and that feverish twinkle in his eyes that he adopted whenever I piped up couldn't just have been a coincidence. It was like he got even _more _enjoyment out of crushing all my proposals—solely because I was actually putting up a fight.

At first, the feelings that tumbled around my stomach (later deemed pride) whenever he looked at me like that were unbelievably uncomfortable, but then I adjusted and realized that I liked them—and that I _needed_ them. Even when he'd crack a joke about me, I still loved the attention and those grins and gleams. Somewhere inside I knew it was just a front to keep people at bay, so when I countered I kept the ammo to a minimum. It seemed to please him.

Then came the week before Christmas, with all of its sickening cheer and snow—and booze. And with the booze, in turn came dreams, and in those dreams lingered my boss, always scantily clad. He was as snarky as ever, but with a sexual zest that seemed to seep from every pore and ignite my own ablaze. I woke up on countless mornings, my sheets soiled from sweat and…_other _things, and Robert Jr. at full mast.

Having wet dreams about your boss is embarrassing, but realizing that you didn't mind them and that you actually kind of liked them is _traumatizing_. Well, traumatizing is a little harsh. I was on edge for a few days, jumping whenever my name or his was called, but then…

Then it happened.

Cameron had had some free time and asked Cuddy if she could decorate. Like women do, they talked about what they wanted to see throughout the hospital. I had been bored, as all of my patients had been discharged earlier, and I was still on the clock. As much as I enjoyed the thought of just lingering around the hospital, going down the corridors aimlessly, I thought that having some company—even if it was just Cameron and Cuddy—was better. But I found out that I was horribly, horribly wrong. When they came to an agreement, they forced me into putting up some decorations with them.

Did I mention I had to lug the boxes full of stuff around for them?

Horrible, horrible choice.

Wreaths were hung on doors without question, with little lights and glitter all over them for extra effect. Ropes and ropes of garland, in colors like gold, silver and bronze, were draped on walls, gleaming underneath the hall lights, along with cut-outs of candy canes, Santa Claus and even Hanukkah lamps and a few dradles here and there. Poinsettias sat on every table and station counter around, looking like a scattered army of red, pink and cream. There was even a _real _Christmas tree in the lobby, and it was decorated much like the walls, except the candy canes were real. The halls stunk of pine and peppermint—but everyone seemed happy and enjoyed them.

Patients walking with their IV's smiled softly at them, as if taking the little things for all they were worth. I saw one of Wilson's patients, whom had just battled her second reoccurrence of breast cancer, stop in front of the Christmas tree and trace her fingers over some ornaments. She looked like she was about to cry.

Doctors and nurses alike walked in and out, their pace gauged by the urgency of their case load, but most, if not all, slowed down briefly to take it all in. Each walked away, some briskly and some leisurely, with a small skip in their step.

And those who were at the hospital to see loved ones or to pay bills lingered as well. There was a middle-aged man in the lobby, eyeing the twinkling wreath on the on-call room door like a child eyeing things through a shop's window. He seemed lost in thought. Even his mouth was gaping a little. When he snapped back to, he looked around; an embarrassed crimson blotched on his cheeks, and he shuffled away.

Christmas does a lot of things to people, I guess. Some of them gentle and sweet—and others just weird.

Cuddy had convinced all the doctors to decorate their offices, if in the slightest, and all of them had agreed. Except for, well, one. And I'll give you two guesses as to who that one person was, but you'll only need the first one.

At first, Cameron was hell bent on decorating it herself. She went into his office and put up a small, fake Christmas tree and a wreath—even a rope or two of Christmas lights around his door. House took one look at them, scoffed, and removed them all. The lights went in the trash, the wreath was chucked in the hallway and the Christmas tree was moved in front of Wilson's door. Cameron wilted in the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest and her head lowered, like a flower under powerful rains. She didn't even perk up or hen around Wilson when he opened the door and walked straight into the little tree. There was no twinge of happiness when he broke one of the plastic ornaments, nor one of worry. She just stood there, defeated.

That in itself seemed to please House.

I convinced her to leave him alone and to come to lunch, as I really didn't want to have to sit by myself.

To get to the lunch room, I had to basically drag her. Occasionally she'd ask why he was such a Grinch, and then get angry and curse him in the most polite way that she could muster. Then she grew sad again. It was like she was Bipolar, flipping from emotion to emotion like in the stages of grief that people go through. Maybe she was grieving for the tree or the wreath or her hope to change our former boss. I don't know. I just forced her through the line. And got her to buy me lunch.

At the table, she stirred her food 'round and 'round until I couldn't stand it anymore. I grabbed her hand and sighed. "You knew that House wasn't gonna let you decorate his office," I told her.

"But he let me do it and then…"

"Took it down himself, I know." I released her hand to break apart a piece of my muffin. "He wanted to crush you. Which I'm guessing you knew before hand."

"Well, he definitely stepped all over me." She sighed and took a small bite of a sandwich and mulled things over in her head. Then she swallowed and perked up a little. "But didn't kill my spirit completely. Chase, you should—"

"No," I said bluntly. We made eye contact and she did her best to make me submit under the boldness of her green eyes. "I'm not doing anything to his office. He doesn't want decorations. We're not gonna force him—_I'm_ not gonna force him to have them." I nodded, feeling proud of myself. I didn't want to get on House's bad side. What if he got annoyed at me and bit my head off because of them? A harsh, heavy feeling invaded my airways. I took a few deep breaths in through my nose.

But Cameron kept on. She probably wrote off those breaths as me trying to smell what was being made in the cafeteria around us. "_Please_, Chase. Just sneak something into his office. Just one thing. A little poinsettia—put it on his desk, behind something. And then I can show Cuddy, he'll lose and it'll be great."

"He'll lose, and it'll be great…?" I blinked at her. What had gotten into her? Cameron wasn't the conniving type. She was slightly mousy and sensitive. And sentimental. Not the type to force someone into hiding Christmas decorations. "I don't wanna do—"

"Please! Just one thing? Hang something on his door and disguise it against something else," she suggested.

"His door is glass," I replied. "And there's nothing really on it, so how am I gonna hide something…?"

"Put something on the top of his door frame? Hide things behind his printer, or in a drawer, or beneath his desk? I don't care, just get something in there!"

When I finally caved, Cameron beamed victoriously. If she made House dislike me, even a little, I was going to put something in her coffee. Or make one of her pens bust in her pocket.

Or just sulk around and not do anything, because that's usually what I'd do when it came to Cameron.

After lunch, I put off breaking-and-decorating for as long as I could. I did clinic duty that I didn't even have to do (that House didn't even have to do, for that matter, seeing as Foreman had finished it yesterday), and I walked down hallways I had no business being in. But then she corned me near the elevator and forced me inside and to the floor that House's office is on. In her arms was a medium sized shoebox, which she shoved into my chest.

"Use something in here. Use more than one if you can," she instructed, and as the elevator doors opened she pushed me out and pointed. "I'll find out if you chicken out," she threatened. I blinked at her, watching her dumbly as the elevator doors closed before her. She'll find out and do _what_? I shivered softly—what a scary broad during the holidays.

Timidly, I walked to his office. The curtains weren't drawn so I could see in, and he wasn't there. So I slinked in, trying to think of which was worse: being cornered by House, or being cornered by a pissed-off Cameron. The latter sounded worse, so I pressed on.

The room was like it always was, with his desk cluttered with papers he probably knew nothing about. It was like someone had barfed up bouts of paper and just walked away. I wrinkled my nose, closed the blinds and sat the box on the desk. I took off the lid and fished through the box, pulling out a small Christmas tree figurine and placing it between the computer monitor and its tower. It seemed to blend fairly well.

I figured, why not hide one more thing? Then Cameron would believe that I tried and get off my case.

I shifted through the things, over a few fat, red orbs and a snow globe or two, until I found a thing of mistletoe. At the bundle of green, tied delicately with a thick red bow, I smirked. If House found the figurine, he'd chuck it—but he'd most definitely leave the mistletoe. That's just how he is. So I went to the door after stealing a little thing of tape from House's desk. I stood on my tip-toes and tied the decoration to the metal doorframe. It was as obvious as can be against the off-white-yet-sort-of-gray doorframe, but, as mentioned earlier, House wouldn't take down mistletoe.

As I backed up, enjoying my handiwork, the familiar pitter-patter of rubber against tile sounded from beneath the door. I heard muttering about the blinds and about Cameron being off her rocker. Then I freaked. I picked up the box of decorations, looked at them with wide eyes for about twenty thousand seconds, and chucked them into the trashcan.

_What a hiding spot_, I thought.

I dug out some of the other things in the bin and covered the shoe box. Hopefully Cameron wouldn't ask for these back. There was a nasty looking banana peel over one of the snow globes, and a half-eaten sandwich from who _knows _how long ago on the fake snow.

When I turned around, House was standing in the doorway. His hip was jutted a little to the right and his weight was focused on his cane a little more than usual. And his cheeks were red. I would ask if he had just ran a marathon if that wasn't mean. Or if I could remember how to use my tongue.

I mumbled mindlessly for a second, trying to think of something, _anything_, that would explain my presence. Nothing came to my mind—nothing ever does in situations like these—so I just looked at my hands.

"Wombat," he spoke, hobbling closer. "Why're you in my office?"

"I-I…!" _Great, Chase, great! Way to look completely obvious. _"I—was dropping off papers!"

He gawked at me for a second before shaking his head. "Why're you so jittery? You look like a crack addict on…well, crack."

"…I had a lot of coffee this morning?" I stated. It sounded more like a question than an answer. My voice even cracked a little, despite my best attempt. House caught onto that; his expression changed and he smirked widely. His weight was shifted to his other leg as he sat down on the corner of his desk.

"When did Cameron make coffee? The pot hasn't seen water since yesterday." His smirk grew even wider and the smugness about his person was so great that it felt almost as if it produced heat.

"I got some before I came in," I amended. _Shit, shit, shit_.

"You're lying," he barked back. "Breathe."

"…I am?" I blinked.

"I mean, over here. Let me smell your breath." _Shit, shit, shit! _I stood still for a moment, shifting my weight from one leg to another. Finally House scoffed and closed the gap between our persons by himself. "Breathe, c'mon. If you've telling the truth, you've got nothing to hide. Being so sketchy about this isn't helping your case."

He was really close to me. A few inches away at most. My heart was beating faster than it ever had, and my stomach had butterflies the size of jumbo jets. I licked my lips a few times while House stood, towering over me. He spoke one more time and I finally complied, breathing softly against his face.

"No coffee, at all. Chips, soda, sandwich…no coffee. So tell me, Robert, why're you lying?" After a few seconds, he began looking around suspiciously. "Don't tell me. You're in cahoots with Cameron."

I put my hands into my pockets. That seemed to be answer enough.

He looked around again, his eyes squinted so he could take in every detail. Finally he stalked over to his computer, plucked the figurine out of its hiding spot—and chucked it against the wall. "Stupid little thing. Gives me the heebie-jeebies," he muttered while he did a once-over. He must've missed the mistletoe because he sat back on his desk, a content smile on his face.

"I'm gonna go now…" I whispered, biting my lip a few times. He said nothing as I walked out, just waved for a minute. Then, almost all the way to the elevator, he called me back. I had half a mind to keep on going, but then I asked myself what I would do if what he was calling me back for was really important. I ground my teeth and walked back.

House stood there, leaning against the doorway. His smug smile was still there and as I neared the door, I regretted letting my conscious win. If I turned around and just walked away, that would look suspicious and he would attack me like a rabid dog later in the day. So I merely slowed down my fate by taking large, sluggish steps.

"Yeah, Hou—"

My words were instantly cut off as soon as I stepped into the room—by his lips. I stood there, my eyes wide, trying to figure out what was going on.

Then he pulled back, his grin even bigger than it had been. "I _so _saw the mistletoe." House started walking back into his office when I pulled him back into the entrance way, closing the door behind me with my foot. I kissed him again, sighed contently and smiled back.

"I'll make a note to only decorate your office with it," I informed him.

"Good deal, Wombat. Good deal. Make me a Christmas tree out of it and lay under it," he spoke, laughing when I flushed.

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**Author's Note: **When I originally wrote this, I didn't intend on it being Christmas-y. But I was sitting in study hall a week or two ago, thinking about the Christmas season, and this is what came out. (: Hope y'all enjoyed it.


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